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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425771">so long as you come home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dialogue Prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon Era, Historical looks, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Reported Dead, Schuykill River</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 09:15:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John had a bad feeling about the Schuykill Mission from the beginning. His fear is only proven true when a messenger arrives with news of Alexander's death.</p><p>Dialogue Prompt 1: "I promise you, just trust me."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dialogue Prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>so long as you come home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is the first of many one shots using dialogue prompts</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t think this is a good idea,” John muttered, resting his forehead against Alexander’s. The action in itself was dangerous, it was intimate, unmistakably romantic should someone decide to walk into the tent. This was the risk they took. Could someone blame them for seeking a brief solace in this tedious war?</p><p>John found that it was easier to pretend when they were together. Pretend that they didn’t risk their lives each day fighting for their cause. It was harder to pretend when they were separated.</p><p>Alexander had just received orders from the General to destroy a flour mill in order to prevent supplies from falling into British hands. It was a delicate mission, of course, Washington had to send the best. It was well known by all members of the camp that the General’s trust in Alexander knew no bounds. John shouldn’t have been surprised when Alexander returned, mission in hand. The single piece of paper was daunting. It felt more like a death sentence than an order. </p><p>And naturally, Alexander was excited to go. He was offered his own troop, a group of men to lead. This is what Alexander had been asking, begging, the General for for months now. John should’ve known that Alexander would seize his chance at a command.</p><p>Of course, this couldn’t stop him from worrying. Thousands of situations ran through his mind, visions of Alexander being ripped away from him in a single moment. John was no stranger to battle, he’d never been one to shy away from running into the line of fire. But Alexander? Alexander had spent most of the war safe behind the General’s desk, working behind the scenes as he fought with congress for supplies. Nobody had ever been shot writing, John didn’t have to worry. This new possibility of never seeing him again made his blood feel like fire, running through his veins.</p><p>“Have you no faith my dear?” Alexander asked softly. He smiled reassuringly, brushing a stray hair from John’s face. “I assure you, I will be fine.” John had no doubt that Alexader would do his best to come home to him, he didn’t have a death wish. No, Alexander had dreams of grandeur, of rising to high status after the war, of building the country at Washington’s side. </p><p>“I have full confidence that you believe you will be fine,” John said, “But you don’t know what will happen on the battlefield.”</p><p>“And such is the excitement of battle,” Alexander countered, he smiled slightly. John could tell that this was in an effort to make him smile, but it only made him frown.</p><p>“This is not a joke, Ham,” Laurens insisted, burying his head in Alexander’s shoulder, “I’m worried about you, scared. War is no pretending, it’s not training. The Brits will be shooting to kill.” Alexander sighed, his expression softening. </p><p>“As will I, my shot is nothing to balk at.” Alexander wasn’t wrong. Though John and many other soldiers had grown up with a pistol in hand, either for sport or hunting, Alexander had begun learning at camp. His marksmanship, much like most of his other skills, had exceeded all expectations and he had quickly become one of their most accurate gunmen.</p><p>“You know that I know that,” John said, “But your gun will do nothing for you if they shoot first.”</p><p>“I know,” he said, “And I will come back to you, John.”</p><p>“Promise me,” John muttered, “Promise me you’ll return.” Alexander sighed.</p><p>“I promise you, just trust me.” </p><p>John sighed, squeezing his boy closer.</p><p>“I love you, Ham.” He placed his hands on Alexander’s cheeks, taking in every feature in an effort to commit them to memory. Though, he didn’t think he could forget this man if he tried. His fiery red hair and cornflower blue eyes would be close to his heart until his death. John stroked his cheek with his thumb.</p><p>“And I, you,” he whispered. Alexander glanced around them before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “I expect you to return the favour when I return.” John smiled. Alexander cracked one of his own, squeezing John’s hand a final time before exiting the tent.</p><hr/><p>“General, a messenger has arrived with news about the battle at Schuykill.” John looked up from his writings. The General had offered him Alexander’s desk while the other man was away. John was grateful, as chief of staff Alexander’s desk was much more comfortable than his own. </p><p>There was a soldier at the entrance of the tent. His hand was held in a sharp salute, his posture rigid and uncomfortable.</p><p>“Send him in,” Washington mumbled, continuing to rifle through various messages. Without Alexander, everyone else’s workload had increased greatly, forcing the General to look through some missives on his own. The soldier nodded stiffly. A moment later, another soldier entered the tent. He was young, most likely under twenty years of age. He scurried up to Washington’s desk, a stack of parchment and a coat in his hands. There had been a casualty.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“On the Lieutenant Colonel’s desk please Private,” he muttered. The soldier nodded, placing the parchment and coat in front of John. “Dismissed.” The Private nodded, before saluting and exiting the tent. Washington sighed, setting down his quill and massaging his own temples. “I eagerly away Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton’s return, so that everyone’s workload may return to normal.”</p><p>“Agreed, sir,” John said, nodding, “The additional missives are, draining to say the least.” </p><p>“Read the message Lieutenant Colonel,” Washington said, “And summarize the points for me. Best know how General Knox managed.”</p><p>“Of course, General.” John grabbed the letter, tearing it open carefully.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> General Washington, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> It is with great pleasure that I report the Schuykill mission a success. Our men fought valiantly and destroyed the flour mill as ordered. It is with grave regret that I report that we were ambushed. The British had anticipated our arrival and attempted to shoot us down. Thankfully there was only one casualty. It is with great sadness that I report that your aide-de-camp Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton’s horse was shot from under him. He fell into the river and never surfaced.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The river’s water level was much higher than usual due to a heavy downpour. I have sent his coat back with the messenger, it was the only thing we found once we had circled back for survivors. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> General Henry Knox </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>John felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach, sinking into his chair. His eyes glanced back to the coat on his desks, looking at it with new-found horror. Alexander was dead. His dear boy was dead.</p><p>“Lieutenant Colonel?” Washington asked, looking up from his letters, “A summary?”</p><p>“The mission was successful,” he said emptily. He stared at the coat, not daring to touch in fear that it would come apart at the seams. This was all he had left of Alexander.</p><p>“Well that’s wonderful,” Washington said, “Any casualties?”</p><p>“One.” </p><p>“Who,” Washington asked, “Hamilton must draft the letter to his family upon his arrival.”</p><p>“Your Excellency,” John said, “It’s Alexander.” The General paled. His normally stoic face dropped in disbelief.</p><p>“there must be a mistake,” he reasoned, “Read the letter again.”</p><p>“There isn’t a mistake,” John said staring at the roof of the tent. The two of them sat there in shocked silence, neither of them able to speak. At the entrance of the tent, Lafayette ran in with a wide smile on his face.</p><p>“I heard a messenger has returned,” he said, smiling, “Did the mission succeed?” John glanced at Washington, who continued to look very determinedly into his lap.</p><p>“They did,” he confirmed. A proud smile spread itself across Lafayette’s face.</p><p>“That’s our boy,” he said, “Wonderful. When is the petit lion returning?” This time John couldn’t bring himself to respond. Lafayette frowned. “Is there not a date yet?”</p><p>“Lafayette,” he said, “They were attacked. Hamilton was the only casualty.”</p><p>“Non,” Lafayette said, shaking his head frantically, “Non, c’est pas vrais.”</p><p>“C’est la vérité,” John mumbled, “Il est mort.”</p><p>“Non tu me trompe!” Lafayette insisted, “Ce n’est pas drôle Jean, dit mois la vérité maintenant.” He pointed at the coat on his desk.</p><p>“C’est son manteau,” he said, “Tu peux le vois si tu veux.” Lafayette rushed to the desk picking up the coat frantically, searching for the collar, where Alexander’s name and rank were embroidered. Lafayette stumbled back, falling into a chair next to John.</p><p>“I have to write to his family,” Washington mumbled, “It’s only right that I should do it myself.”</p><p>“There is no need your Excellency,” John mumbled, “Alexander had no family. His mother is dead and he is not in contact with his father.”</p><p>“And siblings? Or cousins?” Washington asked, almost desperate. This time, it was Lafayette who answered with a small shake of his head.</p><p>“His cousin, ah, Jean qu’est que c’est le mot? Suicidé?”</p><p>“Suicide,” he answered, “C’esty la même mot.”</p><p>“Ah, oui, he committed suicide a couple of months after Alexandre came into his care,” Lafayette said, “He has a brother but the two have lost contact with each other.” The three of them sat there in silence, John holding the coat tightly in his hand.</p><p>“I need to go find him,” John muttered, “I- I can’t leave him out there. Alexander hates the rain.” </p><p>“We’ll send a party to find him if there’s anything to find,” Washington said, “To give him a proper burial.” Lafayette hadn’t spoken again. Washington reached under his desk, bringing out a bottle of fine wine. “I’d been saving this, but I believe the occasion more than calls for it. Gentlemen?” </p><p>“Thank you, General,” Lafayette said, accepting the bottle gratefully. He took a deep sip before offering the bottle to John. He grabbed it quickly, throwing back a large mouthful. The alcohol burned slightly as it went down.</p><p>Oddly, there was a loud cheering outside the tent. John frowned, could he not have a moment of peace? The General rose, presumably to handle whatever commotion had arisen outside, hen John stopped him.</p><p>“I can handle it,” John offered, “Just take a moment General. We must have our leader present strongly for the rest of the army.” Washington sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. John steeled his nerves and walked out of the tent. Soldiers were cheering, huddled around something John couldn’t see.</p><p>“Hey!” he screamed, “What’s going on here?” The crowd quieted, turning to him. From within the group, a man walked forward. </p><p>Hamilton.</p><p>Tired, water-logged and dirty, but definitely Hamilton.</p><p>“John,” he said, smiling crookedly, “I’ve returned.”</p><p>“All of you, dismissed,” John said, not taking his eyes off Alexander, “I need to talk to the Lieutenant Colonel. Alone.” Thankfully the other soldier complied, walking back towards their bunks. </p><p>“I told you I’d come back.”</p><p>“You absolute fool,” John said, hugging him tightly, “We thought you died. General Knox sent us a letter.”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t.” John laughed wetly.</p><p>“I can see that.”</p>
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